


As The World Falls

by randomnormality



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:38:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomnormality/pseuds/randomnormality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life used to be relatively simple. We were born. We lived. We loved. We cried. We died. It was the only constant life provided for us. Relationships are formed. Some are broken. Families thrive, while others fell apart. We took the good feelings along with the bad. Life used to have so much to offer.</p>
<p>Now life is not so simple. No. Now the world is much darker, filled with very little hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1.1- Abomination

**Author's Note:**

> This story will eventually grow into a Daryl/OC. I know, there are plenty out there, but I want to take my shot at it. The story is going to be a long one, many chapters, but will be broken up into different Parts, following the Seasons. This story follows my OC and her small group of friends as they come across the refugee camp. At least give it a chance and leave a review, let me know what you like about the story and what you don't like about it. I am planning on keeping it as original as I can while maintaining the original story line, but there will be times where I may change something. Like, maybe I will kill Andrea off instead of Amy, just to explore the possibilities.

  
**Part One**   
**Chapter One**   
__Abomination_ _

* * *

_(n) 1. anything abominable; anything greatly disliked or abhorred. 2. intense aversion or loathing; detestation. 3. a vile, shameful, or detestable action, condition, habit, etc._

* * *

 

The loud Rock music fills the air of the tattoo shop as Isaac and I begin the final cleaning process. Making sure to sanitize equipment, double-check the disposable needles are properly disposed of and restocking and checking the materials, I sigh as I crack my back and fingers. Saturdays are our designated 'Walk-In's' and exhausting after twelve hours of non-stop tattooing and design graphing, but each night a soft smile plays on my lips. Hey, people may frown on those that get inked, but I love what I do for a living. Setting the alarm, I follow Isaac out of the front door, instantly lighting up a cigarette as we stalk across the dimly lit parking lot.

"So, are you still coming over for the family dinner tomorrow?" Isaac asks, his blue eyes looking over at me as he takes a drag of his own cigarette, "Mel was upset when you skipped out of the last one."

Rolling my eyes playfully at my step-brother, I give his shoulder a shove we pause between our vehicles, "Don't worry, bro. I'll be there. I can't help it that my dumb-ass of a roommate was arrested for public intoxication."

Isaac lets out a chuckle as he unlocks his car door, tossing his things into the passenger seat, "Yeah. Tell that dumb shit if he fucks around with our family dinners again, I'll whoop his ass."

Stomping out the spent cigarette, I zip up my leather motorcycle jacket as I straddle the 'crotch rocket' and flash him a smirk, "Careful, I-Suck," I chuckle as he flips me off, "Don't go giving him incentive to do it again."

"Gah," Isaac groans out in disgust, causing me to laugh again as I pull my gloves on, "You, my dear, are fucked in the head. I'll see you later, Sis."

Pulling my helmet down over my head, I start the bike, driving to the exit of the parking lot. Pausing at the stop sign, I give Isaac a mocking salute before shooting out of the parking lot, heading down the barren streets. As I speed down the winding roads, I muse over really wanting to go to the 'family dinners'. While Isaac and I get along for being step-siblings, I've never had the patience for the three others I obtained. Ma tells me I should get my anger problems checked out. I don't know how many times I had to protest needing a shrink, they just needed to learn how to shut the fuck up. My step-sister, the youngest of the bunch, is a catty girl in her mid-teens and acts like a spoiled bitch. I don't know how many times the little twit ran her mouth, insulting my mother. I never once spoke ill of her father, who is a pretty decent guy, just opinionated over everything that isn't his business. The next step-sibling, is a cocky son of a bitch that I try desperately to ignore. I haven't really figured out how Isaac is related to his siblings by blood.

Gunning the engine as I weave down the back roads through the mountains, I shake away the thoughts of my step-family. Ma never really understood. I did try to get along with them. We're just too different and our out-looks in life are so radically different that 'family dinners' end up in a huge argument. Lauren, my bubbly teenage step-sister, is so close-minded it makes me sick to my stomach. Jason, my arrogant piss-ant of step-brother, has constantly questioned my lack of religious beliefs that I want to bash his head in. Even with the age difference between my twenty-eight year old self and my nineteen-year-old step-brother Isaac, we clicked easier.

Dropping the keys on the kitchen counter, I run my fingers through my hair as my other hand shifts through the mail. Rubbing the back of my neck, working the kinks out, my ears perk up as a shuffling sound pierces the silence of the house. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. My house is never quiet. Not even in the middle of the night.

_'I won't always be there to protect you. You're gonna need to learn how to hold your own in a crisis.'_

Instinctively snatching a knife from the cutting block, I inwardly snort at the stereotypical beginning to a cheesy slasher movie. Moving through the dimly lit house as quiet as possible, my heart begins to race as the shuffling sound grows closer. Clenching the handle of the knife, I swallow back the fear racing through my veins.

_'Fear will always cloud your judgment. You must use your fear as a weapon itself, use it to survive.'_

Feeling a clammy, cold hand grab my arm, my reaction is immediately as I swing around, slashing at the intruder. Stumbling away from the body, I choke back the tension and fear as I slap my hand against the wall, hitting the lights. I'm not sure what the fuck it is, but there's no way that thing is human. Hollow yellow, blood-shot eyes stare blankly as black blood oozes down its chest, as if the thing isn't hindered by blood loss.

_'When your back is against a wall, make sure whatever move you make is the only one you have to make. Never give your opponent an edge.'_

As the familiar, bass voice fills my head, the words faded and echoing between my ears, I feel myself tense. Pushing through my fear, I lash out, sinking the large blade into the side of the thing's head. Immediately an animalistic groan leaves its lips before it drops to the ground, silent and still. Worried about Jamie, I pull the blade from the thing's head before racing upstairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as possible. A curious crunching and mushing sounds from behind a door, my hand slowly turning the door knob. Pushing open the door, I swallow the bile in my throat at the sight of Jamie's prone body lying across the bed. His torso ripped apart, another one of those things with its head buried in his intestines as it feasts with ravenous hunger. Moving quickly, I drive the blade through the thing's head, black blood beginning to coat my gloves. As it collapses over Jamie's desecrated body, I kick the thing off of him and shudder as I kneel next to his dead body.

"Oh, Jamie-boy," I murmur, my hands shaking as I brush his bangs from his pale, expressionless face.

A shriek leaves my lips when his eyelids part. Seeing those once-brown eyes yellow and bloodshot, the same emptiness clouding his gaze, I react instinctively, slamming the blade through the top of his head. Cursing Heaven above and Hell below, I continue to ram the knife, chopping through flesh, bone and grey matter, sobs finally escaping my throat. I can't be sure how long I remain sitting there, blood and gore filling the air with the stench of death and decay, the emptiness of my thought pattern broken at the sound of my phone ringing.

"Charlie!" Isaac's shaky voice rings through my mind.

Realizing this is not happening to just me, I swallow back my own sorrow as I move to my feet, gathering whatever items I can carry with me, "I'll meet you by the bridge at the half-point. Get whatever you can together, pack lightly and only what you need."

Stuffing clothing and food into my bag, I head into my kitchen. Collecting every decent knife, I swallow back my resolve as I tug open the only drawer that is rarely ever touched in the whole house. The black Beretta m9 resting in the drawer seems to glare at me, but I shake away my dislike of guns. He would be disappointed if I didn't take it with me. Checking the clip and gathering whatever ammo I can find, I make sure the safety is on as I slip it into the inside pocket of my jacket. Heading back to the bike, I quickly tug on the helmet and speed down the roads.

* * *

 

"Aunt Letty!"

Catching the flying body of my niece, I embrace the eight-year-old tightly, thankful that the kid is safe before my gaze meets Isaac climbing out of his father's truck. Seeing the pained expression on his face, I give into the torrent of emotions as we embrace. We only remain embraced for a short while before I toss my bag into the back of the truck, both of us hoisting my bike up onto the bed of the truck. Seeing more than enough bags, I nod over at Isaac, who flashes me a pained smile as he straps Mel into the backseat.

"Where are we headed?" Isaac asks, his eyes searching my own.

Pulling down the zipper, I remove the Beretta from my pocket, seeing his eyes flicker with understanding as I say, "South. I don't know what's going on, but Colt has to know something. How are we on supplies?"

"We'll only need to stop for gas," Isaac replies, biting down on his pierced lip as if hesitating to ask the questions running through his head.

"Jamie's gone. Whatever is going on seems to be a pandemic or viral at the very least. Nothing seems to effect these things except head shots."

Isaac glances over his shoulder to check on the tearful face of the sleeping child, "Lauren. Dad. Ma. Jason almost made it out, but...I couldn't go back. I had Mel."

I look away, feeling my own pain spread across my face as I hear the sorrowful tone in his voice. I am thankful he saved Mel. I don't know what I would have done if we had lost the girl.

* * *

 

Stopping for gas was quite the...experience? After days of non-stop driving, Isaac and I swapping driving responsibilities, we managed to make three stops for gas before running into problems. Agreeing to keep weapons on us at all times, I hop out of the truck, stretching briefly before grabbing Mel. Leading the small girl to the bathroom, I make sure the girl stays behind me as I look around for any sign of those things. Seeing none, I pull her inside and lock the door. Letting Mel do her business, I lean forward, hands bracing against the sink as I stare at my reflection.

My short, choppy brown hair is a complete disaster, greasy due to a lack of a shower and my usually pale skin appears more pale than usual, dirt and grime across my cheeks and forehead. Black bags signaling exhaustion pull at the bottom of my eyelids, my light hazel-gold eyes bloodshot and tired. Shaking my head, I turn on the water, cupping my hands under the faucet. Splashing water on my face, the cold temperature shocking away a bit of weariness from my mind as my hands grab for the rough, brown paper towels that are really no better than paper bags. Scrubbing at my face, I toss away the rag before scrubbing at my dirty hands, scratching at my skin as if to get rid of the invisible black blood that caked the gloves I had disposed of.

As Mel exits the stall, a gunshot pierces the air and I immediately reach for my own weapon, grabbing Mel's hand. Unlocking the door, I push forward at silent as possible, peering over at the truck. Not seeing Isaac, I step out, tugging Mel along, and catch a glimpse of a scuffle inside the gas station. Instructing Mel to make a run for the truck and get inside, emphasizing the need to lock the doors, I race into the store. Seeing Isaac plunge a knife into the skull of one of those things, I don't pause as a scuffle sounds from behind the counter. Seeing one of the abominations behind the glass, scratching at the barrier keeping it from feasting on any people, I raise my gun as its lips snap at the glass. Pressing the barrel of the gun against the glass, its mouth open and head tilted back, I pull the trigger, watching as black blood and grey matter splatters against the shelves stacked with cigarettes.

Hearing Isaac's familiar footsteps, I instruct him to gather supplies before unlatching the door to the area behind the counter. Grabbing cartons of cigarettes, I turn to the computerized screen of the register. Plugging in sixty dollars worth in gas, I press against the button signaling the start of the pump, making sure to ring it in as cash. Nodding curtly to Isaac who hoists bags of bottled water and food, I slip out from behind the counter I lead the way back to the truck. Hearing the muffled screams from inside the truck, I sneer as I raise my gun, putting a bullet into the brain of one of the things scratching at window of the truck.

Keeping watch as Isaac begins to pump the gas, I jab the blade of a knife into another diseased brain, not waiting as I raise my gun in the opposite direction. Seeing the rotted mouth wrapped around the barrel of my gun, I smirk.

"Sayonara, motherfucker," I growl out, pulling the trigger.

Using the things shirt to wipe the black blood and other fluids from my gun, I release the limp carcass as Isaac shouts for us to get into the truck. Diving into the truck, I am quick to turn the key, speeding out of the gas station. Speeding down the streets with one hand on the wheel, I hear Isaac ask Mel of her well-being as I rip into one of the cartons of cigarettes. Pulling out a pack, I use my teeth to remove the cellophane wrapping, my index finger pulling up the lid of the box. Thumbing out a cigarette, my lips wrap around the filter before I toss the pack to Isaac, my finger digging into the center console for my lighter. Inhaling the nicotine, I let out a tired sigh as my adrenaline slowly fades.

"Aunt Letty?"

Glancing up, seeing the brown eyes of my niece, I offer the girl a small smile, "Yeah, baby girl?"

"How much longer until we're at Daddy's house?"

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I share a glance with Isaac, who shrugs sympathetically, before answering, "Should be there in a couple of hours. Why don't you close your eyes, get some rest?"

It isn't until she is asleep that I feel Isaac's gaze burning a hole into the side of my head, "What?"

"What if Colt isn't...himself?" he questions hesitantly.

Clenching the steering wheel, I flick the ashes of the cigarette through the small, crack in the window, "We won't know until we see it for ourselves. Until then, we believe he is alive and raising some Hell of his own," Meeting his gaze, I smirk, "Come on, bro. This is Colt we're talking about. The guy's too fucking stubborn to die from these things."

Hearing a snort of amused agreement, I turn back to the road.

_'Keep her safe, Charlie. My world would be a lot darker without my Melody.'_

Nodding to the echo of the past, I choke back the emotions that flood with it.

* * *

 

"Daddy!"

The gun aimed at my forehead drops immediately as the small body of my niece plows into the surprised torso of Colton Livingston. I had never been happier to see bodies lying across the front lawn of my brother's house. Glancing back to see Isaac shutting the gate to the driveway, I give my step-brother a small, tired smile when I feel strong arms wrap around me. With my face pressed against the stern chest of my brother, the comfort and protection surrounding me gives me the incentive to drop my walls. Tears of loss, pain and exhaustion flow from me, my body shuddering into the tight embrace.

"Come on. Let's get you guys inside," Colt whispers as he breaks away from the embrace, lifting his daughter into his arms as he enters the house.

Feeling Isaac drape an arm over my shoulders, I allow myself to be led inside. Nothing is said as I drop my bags to the floor, immediately walking upstairs and stepping into the first bathroom I come across. Turning on the water, I strip myself of my clothing before stepping under the boiling spray. My fingernails dig, scrubbing rough and painfully as I try to push away the picture of Jamie's body. I can't be sure how long I remain in the shower, but a familiar knock sounds against the door before it opens. Seeing Colt's shadow from the other side of the curtain, I rinse away the last of the soap and turn off the water. Hanging my hand out of the curtain, I snatch the robe placed in my hand. Sliding it over my naked body, I carefully step out while grabbing a towel to dry off my hair.

"Isaac told me about Ma, Brian and the kids," Nodding mutely in response, I run the towel over my head, "and that queer friend of yours, Jamie."

Sneering at him, I slam my knuckles against his shoulder, "Shut the fuck up. I walked in on one of those...things devouring his intestines like it was a buffet," I shudder at the memory, "Queer or not, Jamie was a good friend."

"I know," Colt murmurs, his eyes apologetic, "I'm just glad you are safe. Thank you," I blink at the gratitude in his voice, "for saving my baby girl."

"This was the only place I figured we'd get answers from," Giving a pointed glance at the army fatigues he's dressed in.

Colt rubs the back of his neck, nodding, "When Melody goes to sleep. I promise. I will tell you everything I know."

I don't like his explanation. In fact, I hate it. A viral infection that spreads through the dead? It sounds like something out of a B-rated movie. Isaac and I listen as Colt goes into detail, telling us about how the disease spreads, the danger of these...abominations. Colt is calling them Walkers. Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Head shots are the only way to kill them. He goes into explaining how he had decided to wait it out a week, hoping that we would show, and how he took the time to pack provisions in preparation of a long haul.

"So, where do we go from here?" I ask, not glancing up from sharpening the military-grade knife, my boot-clad feet propped up on the table. "We can't stay here. You know how the government reacts to situations like these."

Glancing up briefly to catch his pained nod, I flash him a sympathetic half-smile as he answers, "We go south. I have a friend that might have an idea of what's going on."

"When?" I question curtly, sheathing the knife before I pluck the butterfly knife off of the table.

Releasing the latch, I flip it open, watching the black blade appear as the bite handle arches around the pivot pins, my fingers wrapping around the safe handle the moment the bite meets it, "I'll give you guys some time to rest up. We'll head out in a few days."

Snorting, I flip the blade closed, 'Well, say good-bye to your old life Charlotte.'

 


	2. Part 1.2 - Bound

 

 

  
**Part One**   
**Chapter Two**   
___Bound_ _ _

* * *

_(adj) 1. obligated; destined. 2. restricted_

* * *

"There's someone I need to check up on."

Looking up from the book I'm reading, the only way to escape the chaos life has become, cocking an eyebrow at Colt. Nodding for him to continue, I listen as he explains a friend of his being overseas with a wife left here in the states, on this very compound. Hearing as he tells of his promise to his friend and I subtly roll my eyes at my brother's sense of honor before agreeing to go with. Isaac agrees to stay and keep an eye on Mel. It had been a difficult morning for all of us as we tried to explain everything to the young girl. How do you tell a child their family was eaten and infected by Walkers? How do you explain the terror that seems to be spreading through the world? How do you wipe fear from their eyes and keep their hope alive?

Even when your own is fading quick.

Belting a knife against my hip and one against the outside of my opposing thigh, I collect my gun, shuddering at the feel of it in my hands. I hate this more than most can understand. I've never been a fan of guns, but Colt always insisted I learn to use one and keep it available if the need ever rose. Boy was it needed. Shaking the thoughts from my head, I check the clip before slapping it back into the chamber with a click before leaving the room. I remain silent as Colt hands me two extra magazines, which I slip into the pocket of my cargo pants. I had to get rid of my jeans, the rips and blackened blood bringing back the memories of Jamie's death.

"We're going on foot, try to conserve gas," Colt states as we quietly slip outside.

Instead of taking the streets, Colt and I go through the age-old tradition of fence-jumping. Silently following Colt up and over a fence only to land solidly on the other side, we book it through the yard. Recalling Colt saying to avoid Walkers to the best of our ability, unless they are in our way or close enough to be a threat, I feel my mind travel back to when our hometown was ravaged by the Livingston Siblings. A small, half-smile tugs at my lips, remembering Colt's curses when he, in the midst of being distracted, had hopped into the wrong yard with the wrong damn dog. I had been rooting for the dog.

Hearing a curse from the other side of the fence, followed by a thump, I react immediately as I grab the top of the fence, pulling myself up to crouch on the thick rail. Seeing Colt busy knifing a Walker and not seeing the other approaching, I remove the knife from the sheath at my hip as I launch myself off the fence. Ignoring the blackened blood and dying groan, I remove the knife from its head and search for Colt, only to see him up and over the next fence. Shaking my head at my brother's stupidity, I follow after him.

Five blocks down and ten Walkers later, I land in a yard to see Colt approach the back door. Hearing a signature knock, I turn to keep a look out for any Walkers, my ears perking up as the door opens and a sobbing woman collapses tiredly in Colt's arms. Standing straight, I watch her wearily as we are invited inside. Remaining silent, I replace my knife into its sheath as Colt and this woman talk, the woman's voice frantic and hurried compared to Colt's calm, reserved voice. Watching as he instructs her to stay here while he goes to pack up her niceties, I bite on the inside of his cheek as her gaze lands on me. She seems surprised by my presence and I watch as a smile appears on her face, my fingers tapping against the top of my thigh, foot bouncing with unease.

I've always had a problem with meeting new people. Ma used to tell me I have anxiety issues. I never had the heart to tell her it wasn't because of my brain. Growing up with an older brother and all of his friends, I was not like other girls. I wrestled, played football, watched sports and other 'boy' things. As I grew older, other girls didn't like that so much. Most called me a whore. Some called me a dike. I can't be sure which is worse. I don't know how many times I was shoved in the halls of school, one time even tripped while going down the stairs. I allowed Ma to believe different. I could handle it and I did.

It did leave an impression though.

"You must be Charlotte?" Hearing the soft voice, I blink out of my memories and shift at the attention I'm receiving.

Rubbing the back of my neck, my eyes glancing around nervously, hoping that Colt doesn't take forever, "Charlie," She tilts her head in confusion and I clear my throat, "I go by Charlie."

The woman nods in understanding, "Well, it's nice to finally meet you. Colton speaks about you a lot. He says you and your mother split up taking care of Melody." I nod curtly, the tapping of my fingers causing my nerves to grow tighter with each passing moment, "I think it is admirable for you to devote your time to taking care of your niece. I'm Natasha, by the way, Natasha Summerfield." I nod again at her extended hand, looking away from the expected handshake, "So...Colton said you are a tattoo artist?"

"I was," Inwardly, I wince at the monotony of my voice, my nerves scratching under the surface of my skin.

"How did you get into-"

My nerves snap, the words leaving my lips before I can stop them, "Do you ever shut the fuck up?" Her eyes widen dramatically, "No offense, Lady, but this isn't exactly the best time to exchange our life stories," Kicking my boot-clad foot against the wall, I glare up at the ceiling, "Dude, Colt, can we move the fuck on?"

"First of all," My gaze turns to see Colt coming into the kitchen, "You need to chill the fuck out. Nat is only trying to be friendly," I snort, remembering the last time I let someone get 'friendly', "I can't leave her behind, so you're gonna have to get used to her being around."

"Fan-fucking-tastic," I drawl out, rolling my eyes as I shake away the nerves in my body, "Can we go?"

Inhaling deeply at the door, I wait for Colt's signal before nodding, watching as he bolts out the door. Natasha follows with me taking up the rear, having a feeling that this woman isn't quite versed in protecting herself. Taking to the streets, ducking through alleyways, I try not to wince as Natasha lets out a choked squeak when we come across a trio of Walkers. Nodding to Colt, who tugs the woman along, I remove the knife sheathed at my thigh, before snapping my arm forward. Pleased when the blade pierces through the back of one of their heads, I brandish my other knife, driving it in and upward through the eye-socket of another. Grunting as I yank the blade free, I tense at the groaning sound behind me, my hand flipping over the knife before I turn, burying it into the side of its head. Collecting my other knife, I panic at the sight of Walkers approaching and I take off in a burst of adrenaline. Legs burning with excursion, I duck around another alley, the gravel under my boots causing me to stumble. Wincing as the heels of my palms scrape along the ground, tiny pebbles embedding into my skin, I scramble back to my feet. Without a second thought, I sprint head-first toward a wooden fence, yelping when a hand grips my pant leg. Pulling against the hold, trying not to shriek as I feel more hands grabbing at my clothes, I kick my foot back, hearing a satisfying crunch before one of the hands lets go. Struggling to get at my knife, I let out a relieved sigh before reaching back around, plunging the blade into the top of a head, placing all of my weight against the pulling hands.

Vertigo hits me as the hands release my clothes, the weight of my pulling forcing my body to flip over the fence. Slamming into the ground, I let out a cough as air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. Leaning against the fence, I remove my gun from my pocket as I try to catch my breath, the familiar shuffling sound following the stench of death leading me to lift the gun. As blackened blood and grey matter splatters against the side of a house, I push up against the fence, pulling the trigger as another Walker stumbles out of the archway of the opened back door. Feeling my heart race, I ignore the pain in my body as I push myself up the adjacent fence, thankful when I finally land in Colt's yard. Groaning as I push my way into the house, I ignore the gun pointing at my head as my knees give out, a hiss escaping me as my hands catch my fall, reminding me of the small scrapes along my palms.

"Damn it, Charlie!"

I snort dryly as Colt and Isaac move to help me to my feet, my chest heaving for oxygen, "Have...I...ever...told...you...that...I...hate...running?"

Isaac lets out a laugh, clapping me on my back as I shrug off their help. Mumbling about washing up, I nod as Colt tells me we're leaving in ten minutes. Climbing up the stairs, I quickly wash my hands, hissing as the cold water stings against the abrasions. Nothing I haven't dealt with before, growing up with an older brother and all that, but scrapes on the hands usually end up being a royal pain in the ass. Picking the little pebbles out of my skin, I shake my hands dry before gathering whatever I need from my room.

"Where are we heading?" Natasha asks as we pack up the boxes of provisions Isaac had busily been making up over the last few days.

Pushing my bike to the side of the truck, I wiggle my fingers in Mel's direction, earning a small giggle from my niece. Straddling the bike, I listen as Colt explains heading south, toward Florida. Rolling my eyes as I realize who he means to meet up with, I yank my helmet over my head, giving Colt a mocking salute as he orders me to be careful. Chuckling at the middle finger I receive, I rev the engine as Colt activates the electronics of the gate. Cringing as my step-father's truck barrels over and through a small herd of Walkers, I follow through the break in the group before speeding around the side of the truck. Thankful not to have to sit through Natasha's insistent chatter, I weave around broken down cars and nameless bodies lying in the street.

* * *

 

"Good Lord it's hot out here."

I snort as Natasha's voice comes through the open window of the truck, the engine turned off to conserve what little gas we have left as we find ourselves parked in traffic. Apparently there was a nationwide announcement for people to head into major cities for help and evacuation. Apparently this disease is spreading faster than doctors can try and treat it. Digging through the box labeled 'canned goods' in the familiar chicken-scratch my brother calls handwriting, I manage to find cans of ravioli. Pulling the tab on the lid, I shove a plastic fork into the open can and extend it through the small, opening along the back window. Smiling at Melody as she cheers, I glance over at Isaac, cocking an eyebrow to which he nods wordlessly, a thankful smile on his lips as I pass him one as well.

"Gross. It isn't even cooked."

"Then you can fucking starve," I snap, the heat blaring down on the back of my neck increasing my impatience with this woman.

Ignoring the offended look from her and the glare I see in the reflection of the rear-view mirror from Colt, I pass two more cans and plastic forks forward. Standing upright, I stretch my arms over my head, cracking my back again. Turning my head, the joints along my neck popping with the movement, I see sorrowful blue eyes staring at the can in my hand. Nibbling on my bottom lip, I sigh inwardly before hopping down from the bed of the truck. Knocking on the window of the jeep, I ignore the way the driver's brown eyes sweep over the array of colorful ink along my upper arm before the window is rolled down.

"Can we help you?" the man bites out, suspicious gleam flashing through his eyes.

Glancing over the brown shirt, spotting the police insignia along the left side of his chest, I can only hope the sarcastic response threatening to escape doesn't show on my face as I flash him a half-smile, "The kid in the back seat looks like he might be hungry," I state, extending the can of ravioli and a plastic fork, "I'm afraid I don't have water to spare."

The man appears shocked, but I am saved from saying something smug as the woman in the passenger seat leans over, a thankful look in her eye, "Thank you."

Hoping my nervousness doesn't show as I nod my head curtly, handing over the canned food and give a small, honest, smile to the boy in the back seat. Hopping back onto the bed of the truck, I shrug nonchalantly at the questioning brown eyes reflected back at me. Seeing the proud smile on Colt's face, I look away, rubbing at the back of my neck as I search for something else to eat. Seeing a simple protein bar, I tear at the wrapper and swallow it down. Locating the bag I stored my sketch book in, I remove the leather-bound book and flip through the pages, my opposing hand locating a pencil. Sitting on the tailgate of the truck, my fingers begin dragging the pencil along the paper with a gentle, easy flourish.

* * *

 

The sound of military-grade helicopters from above pulls my gaze away from my activity. Scrambling to my feet, I knock on the roof of the truck, but Colt is already opening the door, stepping down to the street. Tension fills me as distant sounds of gunfire and screams seem to echo down the highway before shouts of worry and dismay echoes from the gridlock. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I glance over to see a darkened look on Colt's face. Catching his eye, I nibble on my bottom lip as he drops his gaze and climbs back into the truck. A sound from my right causes me to look over as the officer climbs out of the jeep, his attention shifting between the sounds of a ravaged city, panic coming from the vehicles and the other occupants of the car.

"Hey, Officer!" I fight back a snort as Isaac calls out through his open window, earning an annoyed look at the cynical tone, "Don't you think since you're under oath to _protect and serve_ that it might be best if you try to get people to calm down?" The officer glares pointedly at Isaac, who waves dismissively at the look, "Hey, all I'm saying is that it would help if we can get off the street and find somewhere to rest for the night."

Leave it to Isaac to come up with a decent plan. Shaking my head at my step-brother, I tense when the officer turns his gaze on me. I can see the indecisive look in his eyes, obviously trying to come up with a plan. It isn't until I see him glance at my bike that I realize he's struggling to ask for help. Ha! The arrogance and pride of Man.

"Instead of staring, why don't you spit it out," I sneer reflexively, "Despite what Isaac thinks, I can't actually read minds."

The man visibly swallows back his pride, "I'm Officer Shane Walsh."

"Congratulations," I respond dryly, hearing a muffled chuckle from Isaac when the officer's eyebrow twitches.

Seeing him take a deep breath, I cock an eyebrow, waiting rather impatiently, "Your bike can easily maneuver through traffic. Do you think you can go through and see if anyone knows the area well enough. Maybe some kind of camp ground."

Isaac and Colt immediately tense, but seeing the heat-exhausted Melody and the boy in the back seat of the Jeep, I groan at the code of ethics drilled into my brain. Nodding curtly, I toss my sketch book back into the bag and hop down from the truck. Snapping up the tailgate, I turn and find my gaze inches from my brother's chest, his eyes stern, but concerned.

"Don't worry. I'll be as quick about it as possible," I state, rolling my eyes as Isaac slides out of the truck, intending to come with me.

Turning back to the officer, I nibble on the inside of my cheek before swallowing back my nerves, "Look, I'm not going to waste the gas when I can walk. Maybe you should do the same thing, only that way," I feel the sarcasm bleed through my words as I point in the opposite direction, "Come on, Isaac."

Digging out my pack of smokes, I ignore the disgusted noise from Natasha, as I light one up before following after Isaac. Thankfully Isaac is able to do most of the talking. Sticking to the vehicles furthest to the right of the highway, I watch as Isaac pauses at an RV with an old man inside. Listening to Isaac stutter at the sight of the blonde teenager that pops the door open, I shake my head. Out of the corner of my eye, my gaze lands on a beat-up blue truck. Seeing the various hunting equipment stashed in the bed of the truck alongside the motorcycle, I glance back to see Isaac blushing as he rubs the back of his neck. Swallowing back the nervous tension, I inhale deeply before approaching the truck.

Behind the wheel, I spy a man with unkempt brown hair glaring at the traffic and distant city. Seeing him chewing at his thumbnail as he turns his attention to the older man in the passenger seat. Taking another drag from the cigarette, thankful for the nicotine's effect, I clear my throat. Sharp blue eyes glare in my direction and I glance back to the distracted Isaac.

"What?"

Glancing back at the brown-haired man, I shift my weight carefully, the fingers not gripping the cigarette tapping against my thigh, "Sorry to bother you, but my brother and I are trying to figure out if there is any kind of...camp ground around here."

"What makes ya think I know?"

"I don't know much about hunting, but I know the equipment when I see it," I respond, feeling my throat begin to close up as I point at the bed of his truck.

Watching as his thumb drops from his mouth, murmuring something to the half-coherent man in the passenger seat, I try to fight back the nerves ravaging my body. Why couldn't Isaac stop being a fucking guy for five minutes? I curse, wincing visibly when those sharp blue eyes turn back to me.

"There's a camping spot in a nearby quarry," he states, jabbing his thumb backwards, "'Bout twenty miles back, off road."

Thankfully bowing my head, I turn to leave when I spy this thumb once again coming back to his mouth. Must be a habit. Patting my pockets, I find my pack of smokes, and spy about half of them remaining. Turning back to the man, I ignore the way his eyes widen briefly as I offer him the rest of the pack.

"I ain't takin' yer shit."

Glaring at his piss-poor attitude, I toss the pack through the window, his gaze dropping to them as they land between him and his passenger, "Tough shit. Thanks for the info."

Turning on heel, I feel my nerves slowly relax with each step back to the truck. Ignoring the blonde girl in the RV, I reach out and grab Isaac by the back of his shirt, dragging him with me. Sneering at the annoyed glare he shoots me, I shove my hands into the pockets of my cargo pants, wordlessly telling him to fuck off. Hearing the huff from my left, I roll my eyes as we approach the truck, spotting Officer Dickhead approaching.

Oh yeah. My nerves are on fire.

"Some guy said there's a camp ground about twenty miles back that way," I point in the direction, "Said it's in a quarry and off the main road."

Not bothering to stick around for a 'thank you', I turn my bike around, maneuvering it between cars before I am along the shoulder of the road. Glancing back to see Colt give me a pointed look, I snap him a salute before patting the knife sheathed at my hip. Turning the key, I pull up the kickstand, revving the engine enough to cause the bike to speed forward. Seeing a sign marking the way to the quarry, I turn onto the off-ramp and speed down the winding road. Spotting the shimmering water at the bottom of the quarry, I locate a clearing before parking the bike. Thankful for the silence, not even the familiar shuffling footsteps can be heard, I lean against the handlebars of the bike. The irritation from having to hear Natasha's constant bitching, not really understanding why someone would marry such a nag, mixed with my nervous tension and the Georgian heat is becoming too much.

* * *

 

"Alright. I know everyone is confused right now, but we must remain calm and wait out for any news from the city," I roll my eyes as Officer Dickhead immediately takes charge, his speech drowning into the back of my head.

Hearing the occasional snort from Colt as he and Isaac set up a large tent, I glance down at Mel, rocking her gently as her eyes grow heavier with each passing moment. Brushing her wheat-gold hair out of her face, I smile softly as her eyes blink up at me tiredly.

"I'm scared," she whispers, never having once been camping outdoors before.

I giggle softly, tapping the top of her nose with my index finger, "Don't you worry. Your Daddy and I are going to stay up, keep an eye on the rest of you while you sleep. Now, go to sleep Bright-Eyes."

Watching her nod tiredly, I rock gently as she slowly closes her eyes. Feeling her body go slack, I look up at the darkening sky only to see the brown-haired woman from earlier approaching with the boy in tow. Biting my tongue as they pause a few feet away, I try not to allow my nervous disposition show.

"Hi," the woman greets with a warm smile and I nod slowly, unsure of what she wants, "My son would like to say something."

I bite the inside of my cheek, unable to stop the small twitch along my lips as the boy ducks his head, avoiding the stern gaze of his mother. With his head bowed, I barely catch a murmur of words which earns him a light smack across the back of his head, his mother immediately telling him to stand straight and speak up. The blush staining his cheeks is adorable as he looks up, shifting slightly.

"Thank you," Tilting my head, my eyebrows knitting together in confusion, his mother nudges him, giving him a pointed look, "Uh...thank you for...the ravioli."

Realizing the context of the situation, I nod carefully, "No problem kid. Looked like you needed it more than I did."

The boy nods abashed before turning to scramble back to the officer, but instead of following the woman turns back to me, "My name is Lori. I really appreciate what you did."

"No problem," I mumble out, and at the familiar look in her eye, I roll my eyes, "Charlie," A quirk of the eyebrow causes me to wonder if this woman is stupid, "My name is Charlie."

"Oh. That's an odd name for a girl like yourself."

"I could say the same for you," I respond curtly, trying with all my power to not snap on the woman.

She smiles anxiously, as if not sure of how to approach me, "You're daughter is beautiful."

"She's my niece," I shoot back, my irritation growing tighter along my shoulders, "and if you don't mind, I just managed to get her to close her eyes."

I try not to feel a sense of pride at the affronted look on her face as I wiggle my fingers in a dismissive manner. I honestly wonder how many times I have to verbally lash out before people get a clue. Watching the pretty brunette stalk off to the officer and her son, I snort to my own thoughts as I slide down from the tailgate of the truck. Smiling softly at Colt's tired smile of thanks, I tuck Mel into her sleeping bag and brush away her bangs once more before slipping out of the tent.

"Dude," I snap gently, shoving my brother's arm, "Get some sleep. You look like shit." Hearing a muttered 'how rude' from Natasha, I glare, my irritation at its peak, "Oi, I didn't ask your fucking opinion," I hiss, hoping not to attract attention, "You better get used to it, sweetheart, cause we might be here for awhile."

Wanting to cool down, I turn on heel and find Isaac helping the young blonde teen from earlier and another blonde, who might be related to her, set up. Seeing the small laughter, I muse over the easy mannerisms Isaac maintains. The world could collapse around us and he'd still find something to laugh about. Turning away from the sight, I stretch my arms over my head only to hear a voice from above offer a greeting. Looking up to the old man sitting on top of the RV, the easy expression on his features reminding me of my Papaw, who passed away during my school years.

"If you want, you are more than welcome to join me up here."

Nibbling on my bottom lip, I tilt my head, "Can I smoke up there?"

Shrugging when he nods his head, I climb up the ladder and instead of facing the camp of strangers, I face the towering incline of the quarry. I'm thankful when the man seems to understand my need for silence. Laying back across the roof, I stare up as the stars slowly appear, a ring of smoke leaving my lips. I know there will come a time where I will have to scavenge for more smokes, but I push back the thought, my mind begins to relax as I mildly wonder if Colt would be pissed if I accidentally shot Natasha. Snorting to myself, my gaze follows the smoke as it drifts into the air.


End file.
